


Reflections in the Glass

by cleophelps64



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Book: The Silence of the Lambs (1988), Dark Will, Murder Husbands, One Shot, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-11
Updated: 2019-10-11
Packaged: 2020-12-09 08:42:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20991977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cleophelps64/pseuds/cleophelps64
Summary: Clarice Starling was warned not to give them the satisfaction of any reaction, but the two men on the other side of the prison glass have not had anything to play with in a very long time, and she might make the perfect toy.------Six years after the fall, Will and Hannibal were finally captured, and are now several years into their lifetime sentences at the BSHCI. They've managed to be allowed neighboring cells, and although it's kept them more or less compliant, keeping them together may prove dangerous.This is my interpretation of the iconic first meeting scene from the book and film Silence of the Lambs, but situated within the universe of Hannibal (I know- super original). The lines are almost all taken directly from the novel and screenplay, with Hannibal's lines now divided between both him and Will. Obviously, I can only take partial credit for this, given it's more of a re-write than an original work.





	Reflections in the Glass

**Author's Note:**

> I've seen more than a few interpretations of this scene on this site, but I decided to take my own stab at it for mostly self-indulgent purposes. Hannibal has been my favorite show since it aired, so I think its high time I actually contribute to the fandom. This is the first work I've posted here- a bold move considering I'm about five years past my actual fanfiction phase. But hey, I've got to put myself out there. 
> 
> This is a one-shot, by the way, although I may add more scenes in the future if people like it.

“They’re past the others, the last two cells on the right” the orderly said as he punched in the password to the thick metal door. He said it nonchalantly, as someone used to opening the gate to Hell. It unlocked with a mechanical click and opened slowly and automatically, almost beckoning. As the orderly put out his hand to say “enter”, Clarice Starling swallowed, and stepped into the corridor.

Most of the cells along the hall were dark. Glass, not bars, separated the inmates from her, and the lights along the hall prevented her from seeing anything more than her own reflection as she passed by. She looked ahead with as much confidence as she could muster, knowing it would be distracting if she thought too hard about the eyes likely watching her from the other side. She had been warned to stay focused, to not let anything get in her head. However, as she walked by one of the cells about halfway down, she flinched as she heard a low voice.

“I can smell your cunt” it hissed.

She tried to give no more sign of notice, but her pace quickened.

The last two cells, her destination, still had their lights on. They were expecting a visitor. Knowing that the echoing click of her heels had already announced her, she did not pause to prepare herself. She stepped forward.  
The cells of Dr.Hannibal Lecter and Will Graham adjoined one another, separated by another pane of glass instead of a brick wall. They could not touch each other, but they could see and hear each other, and that was enough. Clarice took note in her mind to ask someone later how they had managed to be allowed such an arrangement. She had been told more than once how dangerous they could be together. They had managed to evade the FBI and global authorities for six years, and who knows how many murders they had committed.  
Dr.Lecter was reclined on his bed, reading a copy of the Italian edition of Vogue. His cell, the one further to the left, was filled with ornate-looking books and exquisite drawings of European cityscapes. This did not surprise her- his profile, and the news of course, had extensively covered his high tastes. He was tall, broad, and attentive. His hair had begun to gray, and lack of acess to proper skin-care in prison had made his age begin to show, but one look at him was enough to see that he had more vitality than most other people of any age.  
Will Graham’s cell was plain in comparison, with little decoration except for two or three of Hannibal’s drawings. One caught her eye that was different than the rest, of a house in a field with a dog on the porch. She wondered if it was once his. Will himself was sitting at the metal desk with the chair bolted to the floor. His eyes were closed, but he was not asleep. He was simply somewhere else. She could tell that he was five to ten years younger than his partner in crime. His hair was still a dark brown, falling in short curls. Only the little speckles of silver in his stubble gave away that he was any different from the pictures she had seen of him from his own days at the FBI (aside, of course, from his scars).

“Dr.Lecter, Mr.Graham.” Clarice said, addressing them.

Will’s eyes opened. He had a calm expression as he looked up. It was entirely impenetrable to Clarice, yet she got the sense that he was able to look deeply into her without even having to think about it. She recalled his empathic abilities. She was intrigued and disconcerted by him- he had been her once, after all. Before the visit she had watched some archived recordings of his lectures from when he was a professor at Quantico. It was clear that the scattered, coarse, and self-fearing man she had seen in the videos was dead. Some at the academy, like Crawford, had told her that that was a testament to Dr.Lecter’s ability to manipulate. Others held the opinion that the man Will Graham once was never really existed in the first place.  
Clarice broke from Will’s trance as Hannibal set down his magazine, and walked up to the glass to meet her. He stopped at a polite distance, as if there was no glass at all and the only thing keeping him separated was his own manners. She paled a little. Logically, she knew both of them were dangerous, but she was still much more wary of the infamous cannibal than his counterpart. She remembered him from when he was first on the news when she was in high school. His trial had been a media firestorm, and three years later when he escaped from prison, there was practically mass panic. It was strange and disconcerting to come face to face with someone who had seemed more like an urban legend than a real human being. This, however, was not something she would let get in the way of her work. She forced eye contact with him. His eyes were a deep brown, almost maroon, with flecks of red glinting in the dark.

“My name is Clarice Starling. May I talk to you?” She tried to speak with as much courtesy as possible.

By this time, Will had also gotten up and joined Hannibal. They seemed like reflections of each other in the glass that divided them.

“Good morning.” Hannibal said in his smooth cultured voice. It was as if he had just answered a knock at the door.

Clarice took a small step closer. The hair on her arms rose.

“Sirs, we have a problem in psychological profiling. I want to ask you for your help.”

“"We" being Behavioral Science at Quantico?” Hannibal asked.

“You’re one of Jack Crawford’s, I expect” Will chimed in.

“I am, yes.”

“May I see your credentials?” Hannibal inquired

She had not expected this, but she held up her card compliantly. Both Will and Hannibal leaned in slightly to read it.

“A trainee? Jack Crawford sent a trainee to interview us?” Will said with a note of clear amusement and a smile. He shot a quick glance to Hannibal. _He never learns, does he_, they silently exchanged.

“I’m still training at the Academy, yes” Starling replied, “but we’re not discussing the FBI— we’re talking psychology. Can you decide for yourselves if I’m qualified?”

Will made a disapproving sound- that was rather slippery of her.

“Please, Officer Starling, sit” Hannibal said, gesturing to the folding chair that had been set up to her right.

“Thank you” she said, setting her stack of files down and sitting.

“Now” Hannibal said “What did Miggs say to you?”

She did not understand. Will clarified.

“"Multiple Miggs", in the cell down there. He hissed at you, what did he say?”

“He said… ‘I can smell your cunt.’”

“I see, I myself cannot” Hannibal said, and paused to consider what he could. “You use Evyan skin cream, and sometimes you wear L’Air du Temps. But not today.”

“How did you know about the perfume?” Clarice asked sincerely.

“A puff from your bag when you got out your card. Your bag is lovely.”

“Thank you.”

“You brought your best, didn’t you?”

“It’s much better than your shoes” Will added pointedly. 

“I’m sure they’ll catch up.” She replied, not giving them any satisfaction of reaction. She had been told they would do this- try to get under her skin.

“Did you do the drawings on your walls, Doctor?” she asked. Of course, she knew the answer, but she wanted to redirect the conversation.

“Do you think he called in a decorator?” Will remarked.

Hannibal saw her eying one especially detailed drawing in his cell.

“That one is Florence. The Palazzo Vecchio and the Duomo, seen from the Belvedere.”

“Did you do it from memory, all the detail?”

“Memory, Officer Starling, is what we have instead of a view.”

“How is Dr.Chilton?” Will asked, seemingly out of the blue.

“I don’t know a Dr.Chilton”

“He was the old director of this hospital. You must have seen pictures.”

She had. He had been left liver-less, lip-less, and charred. Neither of the men had been directly responsible for any of it, yet it felt like they were. A few moments of silence passed, and she decided to ignore the question and plunge right in. She started for her pile of papers.

“Sirs, if you could please just take a look-“

Will interrupted her. “No, no, no. You were doing fine, you'd been courteous and receptive, you'd established trust, and now this ham-handed segue into your questionnaire?”

“I’m only asking you to look at this. Either you will or you won’t”

“Jack Crawford must be very busy indeed if he's recruiting help from the student body.” Hannibal noted. “Busy hunting that new one, Buffalo Bill. Did Crawford send you to ask for our advice on him?”

“No, I came because we need-“

“How many women has he used, our Bill?”

“Five… so far”

“All flayed?”

“Partially, yes. But Doctor, that’s an active case, I’m not involved.“

That didn’t matter, it was already too late. Both of them knew that eventually Crawford would become desperate enough to consult them, and both had already decided that once it came to that, they would refuse to talk to anyone except for Starling.

“Do you know why he’s called Buffalo Bill?” Will asked. “The newspapers won’t say.”

“I’ll tell you if you look at these forms”

He considered, exchanging another glance with Hannibal, then nodded once.

“It started as a bad joke in Kansas City Homicide. They said… this one likes to skin his humps.”

Now she felt cheap and tasteless. She preferred frightened.

“Witless and misleading” Hannibal commented. “Why do you think he takes their skins, Officer Starling?”

“Thrill us with your wisdom” Will added almost snarkily.

“It excites him. Most serial killers keep some sort of trophy.”

“I didn’t” Hannibal stated simply.

“No, you ate yours.”

Hannibal was pleased by her small boldness.

“Send through the questionnaire, please.”

She took out two copies, and slid one into each of their sliding food trays. Both took their time to peruse them, neither with any intention of actually filling it out.

“Do you really think you can dissect us with this blunt little tool?” Will asked.

“No, I only hoped that your joint knowledge-“

Will threw the packet back into the tray and slammed it to her side.

“You’re ambitious, aren’t you? You’d really like to quantify us. But you know what you look like to me? You look like a rube. Well-scrubbed, hustling, with good nutrition and a little taste, but you’re no more than one generation away from white trash. That accent you’re trying so desperately to hide? _Pure_ West Virginia.”

This mockery was bad enough, then Hannibal chimed in.

“What was your father, Officer Starling? A coal miner that stunk of the lamp? And did the boys find you quickly? All those tedious, sticky fumblings in the back seats of cars, while you could only dream of getting out. Getting anywhere, even all the way to the FBI.”

Every single word they said struck her like a precisely thrown dart. But she wouldn’t give ground, and squared her jaw trying to hide the fear and shame they had induced.

“You see a lot. But are either of you strong enough to point that perception at yourself? How about it, look at yourself and write down the truth.”

She slammed the tray back to Will’s side.

“Or maybe you’re afraid to.”

It was so funny to Will that at one point in his life that would’ve been true. He did not miss that time.

“You’re a tough one, aren’t you” said Hannibal

“Reasonably so, yes.”

“And you would hate to think you were common. Wouldn’t that sting. Well, I assure you you’re far from common Officer Starling. All you have is the fear of it.” He paused, then turned away slightly. “Now, if you’d please excuse us. Good day.”

“And the questionnaire?”

Hannibal turned back, and looked her dead in the eyes.

“A census taker once tried to test me. I ate his liver with fava beans and Chianti.”

Visibly rattled by the calm and simple statement, she shifted her eyes to Will, perhaps seeking some sort of solace in who she thought to be the saner of the two. But his response was far from calming. He leaned in, and made a threatening, almost inhuman noise with his tongue between his teeth. Crawford had been right. They were just alike.

Clarice took two steps back. She felt empty, like she had just given blood. She fumbled as she gathered her things, and started hastily down the hallway. As she left the two lit cells, fright dissipated into anger. Anger at herself for being frightened, and for failing. As she walked by Miggs’ cell, now aware of him, she heard him hiss again.

“I bit my wrist so I can die- see how it bleeds?”

She paused for just a fraction of moment, and that was enough. Through one of the holes in the glass, something warm splattered on her cheek. Realizing as she reached up to wipe it that it was not blood, but semen, she gasped, and stepped away in shock. Before she could run out of that place forever, she heard a voice behind her, calling almost desperately. It was Dr.Lecter.

“Officer Starling, Officer Starling!”

Clarice considered ignoring him, but she shuddered, and turned back with impatient resolve. When she faced Hannibal again, he had his hand pressed up against the glass. He was clearly agitated, letting just a little bit of the monster show before he gathered himself again.

“I would not have had that happen to you. Discourtesy is… unspeakably ugly to me.”

Clarice saw the opportunity and took it.

“Then please- do this test for me.”

Will, who had already sat back down, chuckled softly at her determination.

“No” Hannibal replied. “But I will make you happy. I’ll give you a chance for what you love most, Clarice”

“And what’s that, Dr.Lecter?”

“Advancement, of course.” He paused, then continued. “Take a look in Benjamin Raspail’s car. Raspail, R-A-S-P-A-I-L, an old patient of mine. Now, go.”

With that, he turned away once again, returning to his copy of Vogue. If earlier he had answered the door, this was him closing it. Clarice hesitated.

“I don’t think he could manage again so soon, even if he is crazy” Will said with just a bit of reassurance, knowing she was worried about passing Miggs. With that, he too seemed to shut her out, as if she wasn’t even there any more.

She wasn’t satisfied without her tests completed, but she knew she wasn’t going to get anything else out of them. She looked at the two men once more, and then finally walked away. This time, she went straight to the door, only relaxing when once again it closed and locked with a click.


End file.
